Right to Rule
by A.tmosphere 03
Summary: A foreign war never interested Curly Shepard until it hit a bit closer to home. Now the draft means more than it ever did when his brother gets the letter; with a gang to lead, and a war of his own to fight, can Curly live up to his brother's reputation?
1. Fall Into Changes

**Yes, it has seemed like forever since I have last posted a story. So, that being said, I hope I can remember how to do this stuff and I hope you like this story. It's a bit short, but it is the first chapter. I'll be getting more stuff up when I have time :)**

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN! Haha :)**

**Thanks in advance!**

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The door falls back with a bang, and I realize I have been sleeping. My groggy eyes open and I blink back the sleep to see my brother, Tim Shepard, stomp around the small kitchen.

"What's you're problem?" I say, slightly annoyed that I was woken up.

Dark blue eyes glare at me, and he begins to rustle through the stack of mail. He's too pissed off to talk about it, I figure, and I wonder if I did something wrong, but quickly dismiss that thought. I would have found out by now.

There's nothing to see here, I decide, and turn back towards the living room, when I hear his voice.

"Shit!" Tim hisses, and I turn around. A letter is held in his hand, and he leans on the counter, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Aw, did the dress sale end? I''m sorry, you can catch the one next-"

His eyes flash red, and he looks up at me. "I don't need your fuckin' attitude."

"Temperamental much, today?"

He drops the letter, and takes a staggering step forward. His eyes burn into my skull and cause me to flinch. He continues to step forward until he is right in front of me. Everything seems to stop and linger in the air just for a moment, to see if they witness the death of Curly Shepard.

But nothing happens. The air subsides, and I breathe once again.

"You know, I'm really getting sick of your attitude. You should know better then to mess around with me." He leans his face down and stares into me eyes. "And you ought to know better then to act so stupid. I should-"

A gasp pierces the air. Tim cranes his neck around to see Angela standing where Tim once was, holding that same letter that Tim held. I stare curiously at her, and watch as her face turns to tears, and the letter once again flutters to the floor.

She runs and throws her arms around Tim, and he does not push her away, oddly enough.

My mind races at the speed of light. What's happening?

I walk over to the letter. My heart pounds and leaps in my throat. I slowly pick it up and unfold it. Formal letterhead and nicely typed paragraphs greet me. My stomach and guts twist and make me choke. I read the first line, and I know what it is.

It's Tim's draft letter.

Something propels my feet to run, and I dash out the door. My feet fall into rhythm on the concrete. My mind tries to block out what I had just read. Tim couldn't be drafted, he just couldn't.

Unfamiliar dampness makes my face cold and stiff in the brisk autumn wind. I grow tired of running, and I slow down to a jog. Black ink stirs in my head. Death pieces the air and my world explodes. I begin to shake, and I fall to my knees.

Crunchy grass cushions my fall as I heave out my lunch. Nausea washes over me and leaves me a sobbing mess on the dead earth. I can't think of anything but a foreign war and how much it is about to take from me.

I feel arms pulling me into a sitting position, but my vision is too blurry to see who it is. The voice is shaky and unsure, yet, from the first word I know who it is.

"Hey now, calm down. You're fine."

I pull myself together and become Curly Shepard again. The Curly Shepard who doesn't cry or throw up because his hero practically received his death sentence in the mail. The Curly Shepard who doesn't just run away from his problems. The Curly Shepard who isn't weak.

I am the Curly Shepard who has no feeling again. I'm the Curly Shepard who is once again a hood, a greaser, a menace to society. I am no more then a trace in my brother's shadow, or an autumn wind that rustles the leaves. I am strong again, just like I could be.

"I'm never going to see you again, you know." I say, my voice monotone.

"I'm _going_ to come back, you know. War's not going to take out a Shepard."

I look away. "You have no choice. If you're in the line of fire, you're going to die."

"I don't have an expiration date, Curly." Tim snapped, his voice turning hostile.

"Not until they put one on you."

"Oh my God, you're acting like I fuckin' signed up for this. You think I want to die? You think I want to leave you—leave Tulsa and my gang? Because I don't want to; but guess what? I have to. I have no choice. And I don't get you, Curly. One moment you're crying and throwing up, and the next you're acting like a total hardass-"

"I'm just being strong, like you taught me. Weak gets you no where."

"There are exceptions…"

I turned around to face him. "Well I already broke that exception, okay? Didn't you see me acting like a complete moron? Did you just not call out what I did and then ask why I'm so calm now? I might be a bit stupid, but I can control myself. After all these years, I've learned to do something. I've learned at least enough not to get myself killed."

He falls silent, and I feel that wetness welling up in my eyes. I wouldn't cry… I couldn't cry. I would be strong.

"I'm going to come back. It'll only be a year… and then I'll be here again."

"When do you leave?"

"Three days from now."

The cool air settles my stomach—which was still rolling—and brings me back to the road that lay before me. Things were going to change, I knew that. I didn't even know if I could survive the next year… we barely make it with Tim here… without him… where would we be?

I look over. Tim's jaw is set, his eyes focused on something ahead of him. A tear wells up in his eye, yet it doesn't leave there. It just lingers; a dream forgotten in the coolness of fall. Something told me Tim would be fine… his will to survive was too great and it outweighed all else.

"You know, I've got to appoint a new leader."

"Yeah."

"I'm calling a meeting tonight. We've got lots to discuss before I… before I go."

We only have three days. Three days to do so much. To appoint a leader, settle everything up, and for Tim, well, he had three days to live a life because after that, it was too uncertain what would happen.

"I already know who its going to be." He says, and gets up. He offers his hand to me, and I refuse.

"I think I'm going to stay here a while."

Tim looks distant and confused, but he nods.

"Six o'clock. Be there."

And he's gone. No more then a feather in the wind; a mere echo in the still of the night. And here sit I, staring off into the oblivion that is my life. But it's the only thing I've got.

The _only_ think I've got.

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	2. Tension

**Dear Readers,**

**I thank everyone who read, subscribed, favorited and of course reviewed :). I special thank you goes out to Elisabeth Cesario for being there to help whenever I needed her.**

**So, without farther ado, I will leave you to read and will just give you a subtle reminder to review ;D.**

**Love, Atmos**

**P.S.: I don't own!  
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Chapter 2: Tension  
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My stomach turns in anticipation. Silence fills the empty warehouse. Seven of us are seated—including me, Tim, and his right-hand man Joe Taylor. The left over six stands behind us—they're new or lower ranked in the gang.

Tim clears his throat, and begins to speak. "Let this meeting begin."

All attention turns on him. How wonderful, I think, to have people who respect and who fear you so much that they would silence for you by a word or even a look. I secretly wish I could be like that.

"Today is a different type of meeting." He says, but I'm the only one who understands. "A lot of things are going to change tonight. And, well, it might be hard to adapt to these changes at first. But… we'll—you'll do it. I have faith in y'all.

"Tonight is history. Tonight someone besides me will be sitting in this seat. And, alas, tonight I give up my rule of this gang."

Shock shows on each face around the table. I look down, unable to look at anyone.

"I've been drafted…" He says slowly to the men. "I leave in three days. And, he does not know this yet, but Curly will be the one to take my place." He says the last part slowly, drawing out the words.

My head shoots up, and everyone is staring at me. I stutter, and try to say something—but it doesn't come out. Weakness trembles to my knees, and my stomach ties in knots. Me, a leader? Impossible. I wasn't strong enough, or smart enough. I didn't have the born skills like Tim did, and I most certainly am not ready to run this gang.

The door shuts and Tim is gone. I am left with the remains of the gang—my gang— who stares at me with curious eyes. What's he going to do next? There faces seem to say. I suddenly curse the war, the draft and my stupid brother for leaving me in charge.

Curiosity erupts in me. Why _did_ he pick me? Why didn't he pick his right-hand man, the one I had figured to be in charge? I'm _nothing_ compared to him. Tim knows me. He knows me better then anyone… and he knows Joe Taylor's better suited for this.

Yet he picks me.

"What the hell!" A voice braves to break the awkward, lingering silence. It belongs to that of Joe Taylor.

A chatter of voices collides. Arguing arises. Talk, talk, talk. I get lost somewhere among all of this. The voices rise and rise. I need to say something… now, soon. Sweat dribbles down my forehead. I wipe it away nervously. Now is the time, the time to prove who I am.

I straighten up in my chair and pound my fist into the table. The table shakes and creaks but holds. Every eye turns to look at me. Confusion marks their faces. I gather up my courage and I speak.

"My brother's gone now," my voice echoes through the empty warehouse, and takes the same tone as those of leaders do. "And I'm your leader. And, well, if you don't like that, say something now and get out while you can.

"I don't know why Tim picked me, but there had to been a reason. And even though you might not be able to see a leader in me, he must've. But believe me when I say this, I will give my _damndest_ to run this gang the right way.

"Tim had said tonight marks change and history. There has always been one leader and it has never changed. But now, the gang's in the hands of another-another of the same blood and the same rule. One who has grown up in this gang and has made it his life.

"That person is me." I stop and look around, "And I plan to rule just like my brother."

Ricky Evans claps from the side of me, and some others join in. My eyes scan the room to see all of the members clapping—except one. He just stares into my eyes, imprinting a death sentence onto my forehead. He isn't happy, and I fear he never will be. I fear the trouble that I will have with Tim's right-hand man, Joe Taylor.

I fear for my future and this club's survival.

**.RtR.**

The meeting had since ended, and I drive through the town of Tulsa, looking at the dull, trashy nightlife. Rain drops gather on my window, like tears to a cheek. I can't comprehend what has happened in the last 24 hours. It all seems so surreal and dreamlike.

I think back to the night—to this whole day, actually. It didn't start any different, that's for sure, but how it ended… well, that's a different story. My head hurts, but there's nothing I can do about it. I'm sure this won't be my last headache as…

…as a gang leader.

I cringe. I never thought those words would come out of my mouth. They just don't belong there.

I glance down the empty streets, and among the tumbled over trash cans, the howling winds, and the shaking trees, I manage to see figure of a person. I laugh, at their stupidity for the most part. Who would be caught walking in this storm? But I also laugh to release the building tension of insanity inside my soul.

This tension that is to become my life, my everyday struggle, my weaknesses and my strengths. This tension is bigger than all of my dreams, and if I had to say so, bigger then my life. It's the tension radiating from thirteen guys who are confused.

It's tension for one, times thirteen.

I pass the boy on the street. He looks over at me, and we make eye contact. And that single second that I took my eyes off the road, a gust of wind wiggled a tree branch loose. It comes crashing down, right in front of me.

The car twists and jerks as the tree branch catches in my tires. I tried to serve, but didn't make it. The car creaks and the large branch snaps under the weight of the car. I hear a clang and a ding and hit the brakes.

Could this night get any worse?

I get out of my car, swearing under my breath. The street is dark, and I can't see very well. I can barely make out the inky figure of the branch under my car. I pat my pockets, and find that I am without a lighter and, really, any other means of lights except the headlights on my car which aren't doing much for me.

"Need help?" I freeze, and then suddenly I remember the man walking on the street. I look up to see a young kid around my age.

"Could use a hand, if you don't mind… wait? Curtis?"

"Yeah, that's me," he says carefully.

"Kid, I can't believe you don't remember me." I step forward, and his eyes widen.

"Curly? Wow, I haven't seen you in… in a year at least. What have you been up too?"

"A lot. Come on, let's get this car fixed and then I'll give you a lift home and tell you about it."

**.RtR.**

Soaked from head to toe, we climb back in the car. The branch had since been dislodged, and nothing appeared to be wrong. But I held my breath as I started the old Chevy up. The tired engine moaned, then caught and purred to life. I silently thanked the Heavens that I wouldn't have to walk home in the rain.

"Why haven't I seen you around, kid? Used to be we hung out on occasion, now we hardly see each other."

"Eh, I don't know," he says. "What's been going on with you, lately?"

"Oh nothing much," I laugh under my breath. A _lot_ had been going on, actually. "My brother got drafted, he leaves in three days, and I'm the leader of the Shepard gang now. But other than that, nothing new."

Ponyboy gawks, and then opens his mouth to say something, but quickly closes it. "No way," he finally manages to say.

"Yep, that's 'bout my life right now."

He mulls this over, contemplation prominent on his face. "I don't know what I would do… if one of my brothers got drafted." He says, "I just, I don't know how I could handle it."

I laugh._ Yeah, me either, _I think. "Well, let me tell you, you don't 'handle it.' You struggle through it like a damn coward. One minute you're as tough as nails, the next you're acting like a damn sissy. You just… do it."

Neither one of us talk as I pull into the driveway of the Curtis house.

"I hope everything works out for you… and your gang. And… stay strong. You'll do fine." He opens the door and climbs out, yelling a thank you as he closes it. I watch him run up onto the porch and into the house. He waves a hand in my direction when he notices that I'm still there.

I back out of the driveway, and know that three is only one thing left to do.

**.RtR.**

I find Tim sitting on the porch, smoking away a cigarette. I sit beside him, and light up a cigarette myself.

"Nice night, huh?" He says. The rain had since stopped, and left the air damp and the night peaceful. "I'm assuming everyone is Tulsa will find out by tomorrow."

"That you've been-"

"—and that you run the gang."

I concentrate on my cigarette, which is an odd thing to say, but at least it calms me down, unlike everything else today.

"You know, I'm proud of you." Tim says, his voice doesn't carry far. "I never say it often…"

"Proud of me? For what? I'm nothing like you."

"But you are. Of course, you're different, and you're going to run this gang differently, but I can tell that you'll take no bullshit from anyone. And you're just as strong as me."

We stare at each other, me not knowing what to say. I've always wanted to be like him… and now I was, or at least he said I was. Now I was a true Shepard, one who ran a gang, one who would be feared by the rest of Tulsa…

Or maybe I'll suck at running a gang. Maybe instead of being feared, I'll be overruled. Maybe I'll run this gang into the ground and make joke of the Shepard name. You see, that is my fear. Failure to myself and to my brother.

"But what if I'm not?"

"You have no reason not to be. I believe you can do it."

"Tim?" I ask, "Why did you pick me? You could've picked Taylor or any of the founding members of the gang, yet you pick me…"

"Why did I pick you? I picked you because of your loyalty to this gang, your hard work, and your character. You tried to mirror me your whole life, and now it's paid off. I can see you taking my place and rising to power unlike anyone else in the gang. I can see you leading, and doing well at it."

"I don't know how, though. I'm not any of this… Now, I must admit I did try to mirror you my whole life… but that's beside the point. The point is that I'm young and I'm not sure I can handle the weight of thirteen people on me. The tension and the stress… I don't know if I can do it."

Tim studies me, "I had seen that you could do it. I heard what you said at the meeting, and it was good. You talk like a leader, and you took control from the beginning. I can see that they really do like you. The way they relaxed and obeyed you almost instantly… it's like they never changed leaders.

"You're going to do fine. You know how I run things, now you just have to settle yourself into the pattern. You're going to be a good change, I can see it."

"You're not psychic."

Tim smirks, "Yeah, and I'm also not stupid."

**RtR.-End-RtR.  
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	3. The War Hits Home

**Chapter 2: The War Hits Home**

It is around eight, and the rain steadily pours down. Inside the old warehouse, sits seven guys at a long, shabby table.

This warehouse is familiar, we can see that, and our minds flip back to earlier on that night when Curly Shepard came into power of the Shepard gang. It was the same place, we think anyways.

We take a good look around the long table, studying each on of the guys. Again, we know we have seen them before…

At the head of that table, sits Joe Taylor, leaning back in his chair. To the left sits Mike Lewis, and at the far side of the table, opposite to Joe, sits Ben Reynolds.

"Well, _that_ was a letdown." Joe lights up a cigarette and begins to smoke it. "I always thought Tim was a little bit smarter then that. Apparently he has something up his ass about us."

"What? Putting his brother in charge?"

Our eyes fly to the opposite end of the table where Ben Reynolds, a twenty-something year old0 guy, sits. He's short and stout, but all muscle. His face is fairly attractive, and he has chin-length black hair, and gunmetal gray eyes.

"What else _would_ I mean?" Joe said slowly.

The group falls quiet. Two opposing eyes stare at one another. All that can be heard is the sound of rain beating on steel, and the steady breathing of the seven who sit around the table.

"Okay, so why are we here? And no, I do not mean the 'great question', but why are we here, wasting our time, talking about something that has already been done? There's nothing we can do about-"

"Shut up, Reynolds!" Taylor bellows, "We're here to discuss the future of this gang."

Ben raises an eyebrow, "We're you guys not paying attention earlier? The fate of this gang _is_ decided. There is no stopping it now, it's in full force. Curly's in charge of this operation."

"Yeah, and what if we don't like that? What if we feel the power wasn't given to the right person?" Joe flicks his ashes into an empty beer can and waits for Ben's reply.

Ben's face scrunches up, and he holds his head in one hand. Things start to click in his mind, and his face quickly sours.

"So _that's_ what this is about… a takeover?"

"Doesn't take a scientist to figure it out, now does it?"

A few guys bow their heads in shame; the others sit stone cold in their seats. Some feel it's wrong to betray the one who gave them a place of belonging… of fellowship. But some feel as if this is what had to happen if they wanted to keep this gang alive.

"This is not right! To be in a gang, well, you have to be loyal and united. You guys… you know if you challenge him, he'll win. Tim hasn't got to the place he is today by the grace of God, he's there because he fuckin' _worked_ his way up.

"Tim knows too many people, and too many people will respect this gang, even after Tim leaves. They know who Curly is, and they're going to back him up. You'll never win!"

"Or we might," Mike Lewis says. "And we might restore the power to the one who deserves it."

"But you can't! It's suicide!"

"Oh come on!" Lewis shouts, "Now you're being dramatic! What makes you think we can't take on anything in our way? We were trained by the toughest around, for Christ's sake!"

"Still doesn't mean you're strong enough to do it on your own." Ben points it out.

"Who says we'll be alone!"

"Hey! Now, stop it," Joe rubs his forehead and slams his fist into the table. The two arguing cease, and look at Joe.

Six pairs of eyes are on Joe's own. He takes out his switchblade and plays with it as he speaks.

"Maybe war isn't the best thing. Maybe we should stick it out with the kid a while, give 'im a trial run." Joe gets out of his seat, and walks around the table as he speaks.

"Maybe this meeting should be adjourned until farther notice."

**.RtR.**

I wave bye to Curly, and barge through the doors, wet and cold.

"Hey Darry! Soda! Anybody home?"

"In here Pone," Darry yells from the living room. I kick off my shoes, and strip out of the wet sweatshirt I'd been wearing.

I made my way into the living room where Darry sat, reading the paper. Soda tinkered with a piece of lint, looking bored, but he was cleaned up and looked like he was heading out somewhere.

"You were gone an awful long time. What were you doing?" Darry says and refolds the paper.

"Talkin' to Shepard," I flop down in the chair opposite to the couch.

Soda's eyes shoot up and grow wide. "You know you shouldn't be hangin' around that boy. He's nothin' but trouble."

"He's not a bad kid, Soda. He's just been raised under different rules. He's grease, just like us."

"You talkin' about Curly?" Darry intervenes.

"Yeah, I'm talking about Curly."

Everyone grew quiet. And I remembered the conversation me and Curly had had…

"You know…" I say slowly. "Tim got drafted today."

"What?" Soda says.

"Yeah, he was drafted… that's the reason Curly was talking to me, I think."

Darry and Soda exchange glances.

"Taylor's in charge of the gang, then?" Soda says, apparently knowing who the top ranks of the gang were over there.

"No… no, Curly is."

More silence fills the house. My brother's have weird looks on there faces, a look that marks somewhere between shock and confusion. Maybe they have the same thought as Curly. Why should he be running this gang? I mean, it _was_ on my mind, and apparently it was on theirs too.

"You mean Taylor didn't take over?"

"No Soda, he didn't. I know that for fact."

Darry leans back in his chair, "Hell."

Soda nods. Some secret language I did not understand at the time. And I wouldn't, not for a while anyways.

**.RtR.**

Two-Bit walks towards the direction of the Curtis house. His car is, once again, broken down and sitting in the driveway of his house. But without his car, he could get no where, hence the reason to walk to the Curtis house.

It was another cold morning, must've been because of the big storm last night, and Two-Bit had been glad he remembered to throw on his old jacket before leaving the house.

A car sped past old Two-Bit, but quickly hit the brakes, backed up, and idled beside him. The door swung open, and he thrust a hand in his pocked, fingering the cool handle of his switchblade.

"Matthews!"

Two-Bit peeked inside the car, raised and eyebrow, and smiled at the man who sat in the driver's seat.

"I thought someone was stalking me, should'a known it was you, Reynolds."

Ben Reynolds laughed, and continued talking, "What the hell are you doing walkin' around on a day like today?"

"You know, the usual. Just taking a stroll around the park, through the hood and across the street to the Curtis house I go, or whatever they say. Just gotta bum a ride. My car kicked the big one this morning."

"To hell with you, Matthews, get in the car. Got something to tell you, anyways."

**.RtR.**

Steve picked Soda up at 7:30, that way they were guaranteed to get there by 8… well, hopefully, anyways.

"You hear the big news on the East side last night?" Soda said to his best friend, as he climbed into the car.

"No," Steve looked slightly shocked. "I didn't hear anything."

Steve pulled away from the house, and headed towards the DX. Soda was quiet for a moment… maybe nobody was supposed to find out? Impossible though. But he most defiantly did _not_ want to piss off the Shepard's. He shook his head, Steve would have to know.

"Tim Shepard was drafted, apparently. Curly's in charge."

"What the hell!"

"That's what I said."

Steve ran it through his mind. It was so… so weird that something could hit so close to home and effect the people you knew. Never in Steve's life did he think he would have this close of a confrontation with the war. Yet here it was.

"Man, the war's getting a little too close for my comfort." Steve said as he pulled into the DX.

"Sure is, Steve."

**.RtR.**

"Merrill! Grab me another beer!" A half-drunken Brumly yelled. He whooped once, and stumbled out of his seat.

Buck Merrill slid a beer across the bar to him. And then he stepped out to see what was happening to the rest of the people there tonight, when he seen two guys getting ready to fight in the corner.

"Chill the fuck out! Cool it, or get your sorry asses out of here!" The tall man said, as he grabbed a boy by each hand. They were just two amateur gang members trying to prove that they were cool.

Whispers of _what the hell is wrong with Merrill?_ circulated around the bar. And, actually, nobody knew what was phasing the young, rebellious, drunken, and usually easy-going party go'er.

But tonight Buck wasn't like that. He was sober as ever, and tense. He felt like beating someone's head off just for the fun of it, kind of like his old friend Dallas used to do. That wouldn't work for Buck, unfortunately, or he would be all over some low-class greaser ass tonight… not like he had much room to talk, you know.

Tonight something sparked in Buck, a long forgotten fear with a long forgotten agenda. The fear of being killed, of dying, overwhelmed him. He did not know what he would do if he was drafted like, well, like Tim Shepard was.

And it wasn't even like Buck had someone to take over his place in the town of Tulsa. No brothers—no kin at all—not a soul to carry on the Merrill name. Jut like the Winston name had supposedly died out after Dally kicked the bucket.

And the thought of Curly Shepard running his gang in the ground feared him, too. And he didn't understand. It didn't matter to him any of the members lived or died. Of course he liked Tim, he was as decent as a hood gets, and Curly was cool, too, but something just worried him. And he wasn't quite sure what that was.

**.RtR.**

To the police officers at the station, to the store clerks, to Soc land and everywhere in between, word spread that Tim would be leaving in now, two days.

Phone calls were made, school gossip was gossiped, but most of it was true this time. If you walked the streets of Tulsa on that day, you probably would hear the whispers of did you_ know Tim Shepard got drafted and his brother is running the gang? Of course I knew! That's old news, by now!_

Some people shrugged the news off, let Tim die in a hole for all they care—those were either Socs or people who didn't know him. But others were seriously affected. They grieved the loss of one of the greatest hoods in Tulsa's history. Greaser girls cried because they had _swooned_ over the bad-boy hood.

And fellow gangs took it in stride. Nothing really faced them, though. As long as it wasn't them… well, then it didn't matter.

**.RtR.**

"I have to talk to you," I say as I take a seat across the table from my mother.

She puffed on a cigarette, a glass of cheap liquor in front of her, which, in truth, wasn't an odd sight to see our mother doing; especially on a rainy day like today.

"What is it, son?" She says, her voice wasn't slurred yet, and her manner was still caring and thoughtful, yet she seemed to have a hint of irritation laced into her words.

"I… I've been drafted."

She blinks a few times and shakes her head, like she's arguing with herself or trying to clear her head. I just look at her, and sigh. There's nothing else I can really say.

"What in the hell," she whispers heavily. She reaches for her glass and downs the alcohol in it. I just look down in front of me.

"When so you leave?" She managed to say, holding back the tears in her eyes.

"Wednesday."

"Heaven Almighty," she falls silent, and gets up and gets another glass. She sits back down at the table and fills both of the glasses with the liquid.

I watch with pretentious eyes.

"Drink up, Sonny. It's gonna be a long year."

**.RtR.**

Feeling slightly buzzed after finishing the whole bottle of alcohol with his mom, Tim goes outside to sit on the front porch. The rain has since stopped, and left the streets damp with its tears. The sky is cloudy and dark, with no moon in sight.

But he guesses that's what happens after a storm.

He thinks back to earlier that night when he gave up his gang to his brother. Well, you see, that was never supposed to happen. He had planned to diminish the gang that night. One, because he didn't quite trust Joe Taylor with that much power… Tim believed he'd go astray and do things that Tim had clearly not allowed.

But then he thought about Curly, his little brother, and contemplated the idea of giving the gang over to his ruling. And, to tell you the truth, Tim still had full intentions of calling an end to that gang until the moment he spoke. He than knew he had to give the gang to Curly for rule.

Now his gut feeling says he's done right. Even though he still has a lingering suspicion that Joe Taylor's up to no good, he has to brush it off when he sees his brother's car park in front of the house, and Curly walking towards him.

**..RtR.**

**So, this chapter was formatted a bit differently, and I think I might rewrite it later on. **

**I appreciate the reads! And I really love those review-things :D.**

**FYI: This story will probably be on hiatus for a week or two while I rewrite some old stories I have posted. Hopefully you bear with me in the time being!**

**-atmos**


	4. It's Love

**Chapter 4: It's Love**

The next morning when I wake up and move around town, all I can hear is the whispers of that certain somebody who's going to war, as well as who's running the Shepard gang. Which, any other time, I would've been grateful for the free publicity, but not today. Not for this circumstance or this instance. I didn't want glorification, or sympathy for that matter, I just wanted left alone.

I dismiss the thought of me ruling and of this dreadful war, and head home. I only had a day and a half left to spend with my brother, and I figured I ought to make it a good one. I would've, too, if the phone wouldn't have decided to ring as soon as I stepped foot into the house.

I sigh in disgust and head over to the phone.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, uh, is this the Shepard house?"_

Curly stops, "Depends who's asking, why?"

"_I'm looking for a Curly Shepard…"_

"Yeah?"

"_Is this him?" _The voice asks hesitantly.

Curly wavers, "None other."

"_I… I'm Chris Rivers."_

And that's how my day was ruined.

**r-T-r**

I sit at Buck's; five other guys are placed at the table. Opposite to me is Chris Rivers, leader of the Brumly Boys, and ruiner of my day. Two of the leftovers are his guys—his right hand and his other long time member—and the other two are mine.

"So, what was your reason for calling me here?"

"I have… a worry." He adjusts himself and looks me straight in the eyes.

I cock an eyebrow and lean back in my chair, "What kind of worry?"

"Well, you see, me and your brother had some running routes… He…"

"Either grow a set and ask me, or get out. Because you're wasting my time, and you've already ruined my day."

Chris blinks, and shakes his head, "I had agreements for drug trade on your guy's territory. I didn't know if it still stood under new rule."

"Drug trade?"

"Yeah," Tim's old right hand speaks up. "Only me and Tim had knew about it. You guys knew nothin'."

I shake my head, "Well, I can't say yes, if I don't know what it's about."

**r-T-r**

The day seemed to drag on, and Curly was overwhelmed. He never knew how much territory they actually had, and he knew nothing of all of these trade deals. Curly did know that Shepard's weren't involved in any hard drug trade, which it the reason why his brother had let Chris deal in the first place. Curly had already weighed the options, and decided it'd be best to keep it like how it was, but he needed to know all about it first.

Chris seemed like a decent guy. He was a hood, that wasn't up for debate, but he was decent. He wasn't all over you like some leaders were, but he was quiet… and authoritive. Curly found it odd, and he wondered how he made his start being like that. But, really, nobody _plans_ to be a gang leader… it just, well, it just happens.

A little after noon, they took a break from the tedious meetings and decision-making. They still had much more to discuss, though, and planned to finish it up before nightfall—although Curly doubted they'd get done.

Curly hears a knock at the door, and Buck sighs in disgust and goes to answer it. The Shepard boy swears there's something wrong with that Buck. He's just not acting right.

"What do _you_ want?" Curly can hear from the door.

A quiet, feminine voice sounds in return, "My brother."

"And who's that? Am I supposed to _magically_ know?"

Curly gets up, and heads toward the door, "Merrill? Who in the _hell_ are you talking to?"

When he arrives at the door, he looks out to see a pretty, 5-foot-something, dark haired girl. He flashes a toothy grin and purrs, "Can I help _you_ sweetheart?"

The girl reddens, but stands her ground, "I just need to see my brother, Chris."

_Oh shit!_ Curly thinks, and quickly turns off the flirt mode. He can't even think about getting in to bed with her… that'd lose his ally with Brumly pretty damn quick.

Pushing Merril aside, he nods. "Come in."

Curly makes his way through the bar, and back to the meeting rooms. His mind still on the girl behind him and hoping she wouldn't tell her brother he tried to put the make on her.

"Rivers!"

A pissed off Chris Rivers appears, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, "What the hell, Shepard? Do you have to fuckin' yell? I'm standin' right here—Oh, hi Leena."

The girl looked relieved, "Hi Chris. I brought Chad's car…"

"Tuff enough." Chris says quickly, throwing the butt of his cigarette in the garbage. "Come on, I'll take back around to my car."

**r-T-r**

A blurry scene of a table comes into view. Voices talk around us, muffled at first, until the sound crackles and pops, and we can hear. Faces aren't visible, though. It's like looking through a camera that's out of focus.

"So we have decided?"

A dead silence fills the room.

"Yes." 

"Good. This will go down tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow? But…" 

"But what? Tim Shepard will be gone, and it gives us a chance to move in…" Faces become visible and we see who has been talking—Joe Taylor and some unknown figure of a guy. Five men sit around the table this time.

"It's so soon… I don't know if we can pull it off such a short amount of time. I've gotta get my gang in check, and so do you. This isn't something that can be thrown together overnight!"

"Paul, you have to see where I'm coming from-"

Paul sighs, "I do, Joe, but I think an overnight takeover's a bit grand… I think you should wait it out until next week, that'd give us time to plan, and to make sure Shepard's gone."

Joe mulls this over, "But that gives them time to know what's up. And Shepard _will_ be gone. Pretty damn hard to escape the draft."

"Yeah, and so does doing it tomorrow… hell, he might already know. You told me about that Ben kid, what if there's others like him in the room… or what if he told…"

"Ben?" Joe questions and laughs. "He's a dumb kid, he'd never _think_ to tell Curly."

This Paul character bits his lip and nods. Joe Taylor was an awful cocky guy, but smart. The only thing Paul found fault with was that he was so damn sure of himself. That got you killed, sometimes, and he knew that for fact. He had friends who lost their lives to that misfortune... and it wasn't pretty at all.

"You never know."

A trickle of anger grew in Joe. He hated when people judged him, and tried to talk him down. He wouldn't say anything, of course, because if Curly retaliated, he'd need the help of another gang, and the River Kings were good ones to have on your side.

"Paul, I've known you forever, and I consider us pretty good friends…" Paul nods, and Joe continues. "And I know you kinda hated Shepard-"

"That's not true. I don't like how Tim always buddied up with those nimrods from Brumly and let them have dealing rights and not us, but I never hated him."

Joe looked irritated, "Yeah, well if you'll help me and _listen_ to me, then you can have all the dealing rights you want…"

Paul cocked an eyebrow, a look o disgust settling on his face, "You know, my gang's hostile. We're _not_ sissies, and we do things that your little 'gang' couldn't even imagine doing. So unless you want the deal dropped, and me to walk away, you better knock off your fuckin' attitude. I don't mix well with damn fucktards who don't know their place."

"I don't need you." Joe said, losing grip of his temper.

"Oh really? Well try fighting this war without me. Because, trust me, if I know Curly right—he's going to bring friends… and they're gonna be badass, not just this little piddly stuff like your used to."

A smile formed on Joe's face, "I'm ready."

"I'm sure you are," Paul said as he made his way out the door. "Ready for something, that's for sure."

**r-T-r**

_Wednesday Morning._

Tim looked at the contents of his old room. He wouldn't see this again for a year, or maybe never again, he thought to his dismay. He'd miss this place, that's for sure, but not only his room, this whole town. He loved Tulsa.

The next year was going to be hard, and he wasn't sure if he could face the wrath of the guns and the sounds of death. He grew up around it, surely. He'd seen a dead body, he'd fought with guns as well as fists, but never killed anyone. Injured, surely, but never killed, and he wasn't sure he could do it…

Leaving the contents of his room totally untouched, he slid a small book of pictures into his duffle bag. He decided not to go through his stuff; even though he had things in there he wanted no one else to see, he knew this was the way to leave this room—untouched.

As an after thought, he scribbles a few words down on a piece of paper, and puts it under his pillow. A sad smile dawns upon his face, as he exits the room for the last time until next year.

Or maybe ever, who knows.

**r-T-r**

I walk up to Tim, and extend my hand out to shake his. He shakes his head in disagreement, and hugs me. Strong arms I've always known to fight consume me. Arms that have loved and hated, fought and led. Those arms were history to me, and I felt his arms becoming my own, his weighted shoulders dropping onto mine.

I was becoming my brother.

A felt a burning sensation in my eyes as tears fought to escape. I wanted to let them, no doubt, but I couldn't. They were stuck, frozen almost. And at the time I didn't understand why, but now I know.

_Gang leaders don't cry._

And that was fact, my dear friends.

Arms let go, and I look up to Tim to see hardened blue eyes, and a set jaw. He was petrified, and Tim was never afraid. But by the way he looked, and the way he acted, I knew he was scared out of his mind, which, in a sense, is kind of funny.

Tough, greasy hood that has a sledgehammer blow, and who has had his back against the wall in a fight, and never batted an eye. He could take a man down with a stare, and people parted ways to avoid my brother—yet a foreign war scared him.

I understand, I think. He's risking his life and his future—as much as one he has, anyways—for some cause he doesn't even care about. For something he believes isn't worth fighting for. Government affairs don't catch interest to Tim, and never would. Yet, now, he was involved in them.

"You're gonna do good, kid." Tim says, a half-hearted smile on his face.

"I hope. I'll never be you…"

"Doesn't matter," He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe I didn't run the gang exactly the right way. And, well, maybe you will do better. I can't look at myself in the past to see whether I failed or succeeded. I wish I could, though. Damn, I wish I could."

Words sink into my brain. I've always thought Tim to be a good leader, but when he questions himself… what do you do? Silence formed in the half-empty house as I stopped to think this cause over. I was clueless. 

Words pop into my head and leave more quickly then I can control them, "Thanks, Tim…"

His face twists in confusion, "What do you mean?"

My mouth opens, and closes, "You've taught me… how to life. And, I don't want to be mushy-" Something catches in my throat, and I bite back the urge to cry. "—But I wouldn't be who am I today without you. You're more then a father to me then anyone I know…"

"Curly," Tim manages before he pulls me into a hug once again.

For the first time in my life, I know what this feeling is, this feeling of happiness and joy… and of someone having your back all of the time. I've felt it before, but never said it. I've known it all along, but couldn't really put a name to it… and now, today, as I say goodbye to my brother, I know what it is.

It's love.

**r-T-r**

Tim left that morning, and I could never quite get over the fact that he had finally left. I wasn't ready, I guess, even though I thought I was. Although, thinking back on it, I know why. Finally, I realized how much I needed one person, and how much I loved my brother.

I've felt love before, who hasn't? I love my mom, my sister… this town—but not the kind of love you search for your whole life (and no, not the romantic kind, either). This is the kind of love that comes from knowing you matter to someone, and the feeling of belonging.

And now, I don't feel that, and it makes me angry. But I guess I just have to work my way through this, until I find that belonging again. It's going to be a long year, but I'll do it. Because damn me it I don't top the name of my brother. I've got to prove I'm the best, because that's all Tim would want me to do.

I'll do it. I know I can.

_Work it harder_

_Make it better  
Do it faster_

_Makes us stronger  
More than ever_

_Hour after  
Our work is never over__._

**r-T-r**

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton and Daft Punk's **_**Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger**_**. **

**Sorry for the wait. Chemistry has had my focus for the last few weeks! So enjoy, and hopefully I'll get another chapter up soon! Special thanks to all who reviewed/favorited/subscribed as always. **

**-atmos**


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